


where the stars go blue

by submersive



Category: Haikyuu!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/submersive/pseuds/submersive
Summary: Hajime realises things.Or: The Decimation of one (1) Iwaizumi Hajime.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 19
Kudos: 168





	where the stars go blue

**Author's Note:**

> There's masturbation & swearing.

> I feel like this year is really about like, the year of just realising stuff. And everyone around me we're just like realising things.
> 
> — Kylie Jenner

Iwaizumi Hajime, 28, official trainer for the Japanese National Team - Volleyball (Men’s Division), best friend to Oikawa Tooru, and by extension sort-of-best friend to Kageyama Tobio - is an idiot.

No, he really is.

He’s a _fucking idiot_.

For many reasons.

And this one? This one takes the cake.

Who else in the entirety of the known universe would be stupid enough to fall head over heels, balls up, mindnumbingly in love with the two dumbest, most stubborn people in the entire galaxy.

Apart from that, said dumb people who he’s apparently been subconsciously simping for are together.

As in a couple.

As in there is no fucking way he’ll want to get between the relationship that Hajime’s been incredibly, and _involuntarily_ coaxing out and watching unfold before his very eyes for close to two whole decades.

And sure, Iwaizumi Hajime, 28, blah blah blah, is usually the most rational - this was voted upon by the entire conglomerate of Japan National Teams and he won by a landslide - but he’s not exactly as experienced in relationships as some would assume.

Case in point, it only hits him when he’s sitting on the sofa of one (1) Kageyama Tobio in his apartment in Rome during their off-season when one (1) Oikawa Tooru uncurls himself from where he’s cozied up next to Tobio, mumbling something about retiring for the night before pecking Tobio on the lips and dragging the throw with him as he stood.

It’s a ritual Hajime has seen them do in every city, country, or continent they’ve all found themselves in during the rare times with which all their schedules line up.

Hajime would say it’s cute but he doesn’t want Tooru's ego to inflate more than it already is.

Except this time - this _time_ Tooru stops next to him, curls his fingers around Hajime’s nape, then leans down and kisses him before yawning _right there on_ Hajime’s lips.

Bastard.

“You’re so shitty,” Hajime tells him, aiming to roughly push Tooru’s face away because _gross_ _pesto breath_ but his traitorous hand ended up brushing Tooru’s cheek tenderly. “Brush your teeth before bed, asshole.”

“Mmhmm,” Tooru mumbles as he straightens up, still clutching the blanket _because he’s a blanket hog_. His dumb best friend ignores him, stumbles around the loveseat Hajime’s currently perched on, before disappearing into the hall where the bedrooms are.

“Good night,” Tobio chimes in softly over the sounds of _Jurassic Park_ playing on Tobio’s tv in low volume.

Except.

Wait.

Hajime’s brain catches up with him, and he jolts up, eyes growing large and panicked as he looks at Tobio who’s still watching the stupid movie that Hajime forces them to watch every time it’s his turn to pick.

Did _Tooru_ just—

Hajime brings up his left hand - the less traitorous one - up to his mouth and touches his lip.

It’s still _his_ lips.

It’s still his lips and Tooru just kissed them.

Tobio flicks his gaze at him, cool, calm, and relaxed as he pleases as if Tooru didn’t just kiss another man in front of him to the sounds of a pterodactyl shrieking in the otherwise quiet apartment that Hajime is somehow extremely familiar with that he can tell you exactly how many pairs of utensils currently exist in the top drawer of the leftmost side of Tobio’s kitchen.

“Time to sleep?” Tobio asks neutrally.

And here’s the thing.

For Hajime, Tobio is still a complete mystery.

Sure, Hajime can read him when he’s playing. But his facial expressions? His mood? The thoughts that are running through his head?

Those are some things that Hajime weren’t privy enough to distinguish by just staring at him. That’s Tooru’s forte - his role as Tobio’s _goddamn_ partner and self-proclaimed rival. Hajime’s just the one to ensure that they’re well fed and taking care of themselves.

So he meets Tobio’s eyes, almost luminous against the reflection of the tv and the black velvet of the wintery Roman sky outside the window behind him, and Hajime tries to figure out even a single shit of what he must be thinking.

“Iwa-san?” Tobio calls out innocently.

A part of Hajime winces at the nickname because Hajime has been trying to get him to call him _Hajime_ because it’s been _years_ COME ON, he’s pretty sure Tobio is trolling him at this point. But another part of him - the majority of it - is trying to parse out the complete fucking puzzle that just happened because holy fuck, he will _NOT_ be the homewrecker that ruined the most historic reunification since Germany.

Nope.

Kourai would put his head on a plate and serve it to Wakatoshi with some leeks and potatoes only for Japan’s Canon to spike it to kingdom come.

“Huh?” Hajime asks because the entire situation has apparently rendered him illiterate.

Tobio slowly lifts himself up from his sofa, makes his way to Hajime, stands on the exact same spot _shittykawa_ stood on when he left Hajime on this downward spiral, then crouches down enough to look Hajime in the eye.

“Uh,” Hajime’s mouth says.

Tobio shifts until he’s kneeling on one knee, hand skating up and finding its way on Hajime’s lap just south of where his dick is currently valiantly trying to wave hello to Tobio through his pyjamas because _wow okay, Tobio looks really good on his knees_ — then tilts his head up and presses his lips against Hajime.

“Goodnight,” Tobio says after Hajime basically short circuits on the leather.

 _What_ , his brain says. _What the fuck_.

Tobio smiles at him, just a slight curl on the corner of the mouth that _just kissed Hajime_.

Okay, so maybe Hajime can read him by sight.

Slightly.

Just a little.

Just a _tad_.

Because he can tell that Tobio’s amused.

He tries not to let his eyes wander anywhere near the sudden tent between his legs lest Tobio notices.

Then he curses at Tooru who once told him in _explicit details_ just how much of a champion cocksucker Tobio is.

“Goodnight, Hajime,” Tobio whispers to him. The sound of his name on Tobio’s _apparently champion cocksucker_ lips is… hmm. Okay. _Okay_.

He’s gay.

Hajime is _so_ gay.

Holy shit.

“Goo—” He starts hoarsely, still unable to break away from Tobio’s stare. Hajime clears his throat. Shoots a quick prayer to every single deity he knows, then sends some extras to every ancestor that existed before him just to grant him enough strength and dignity to ensure that his voice doesn’t break like a prepubescent teen. “Goodnight, Tobio.”

Tobio makes his way to the main bedroom where his boyfriend _who also kissed Hajime_ disappeared into just a few minutes before and leaves Hajime to expire in the living room along with the other messes.

*

 _No_ , he thinks snidely to his dick when he finally manages to propel himself to the guest bedroom after he cleaned up the empty bowls of chips left on the coffee table and switched off the tv all while carrying raging hard on between his legs. _Stop it_.

There’s a moan that filters through the wall across the hall where Tooru and Tobio are _apparently_ getting it on.

God, why are they being so loud?

They’ve always tried to keep it quiet before.

There’s a _really long and filthy moan_ that sounds like it’s Tobio — a sound that Hajime’s never heard him make before — followed by a muffled shout that is most definitely Tooru and Hajime finds his traitorous hand making its way into his pyjamas.

His brain offers images - snapshots of memories when he and Tooru were kids, watching porn in Hajime’s bedroom and jacking off next to each other, backs resting on the wall next to Hajime’s bed _as horny teenagers do_.

Hajime curses his mind for still remembering the curve of Tooru’s cock as it appears and disappears as into a fist - faster, tighter, and rougher, his neck arching up and his mouth falling open with a groan as he reached his climax and Hajime had followed him right after, mesmerised by the sound that Tooru made.

“Fuck,” Hajime grits out, his pyjamas now pulled down to his hip just enough to expose his balls and his dick. He pumps into his hand, hips pistoning up to the tightness instinctively, thinking of Tooru’s neck and how he wanted to fall onto his shoulder and bite until the indents of his teeth sank into the flesh.

Thinks of Tooru who looked at him right after, eyes dazed and bright as his gaze travelled from Hajime’s lips to the v of his legs.

Hajime bites into his lips now, his other hand fumbling for his balls, pressing them _just so_ and oh _fuck_ , he thinks, suddenly remembering Tobio’s _goodnight, Hajime_.

Tobio on his knees.

Tobio on his knees just a few minutes ago calling him _Hajime_.

Tobio who is moaning from the other room as he does _who knows what_ with Tooru.

Tobio on his knees, on all fours, his lips on Hajime and around him as Tobio takes him in inch by inch until his entire length is in Tobio’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat - deep enough that he can _feel_ the strength of Tooru as he _fucks into_ Tobio’s ass.

Hajime can picture it so clearly: Tooru’s hands gripping Tobio’s hip, Tobio’s ass high up the air as Hajime lies flat on his back on _this_ bed, his fingers tugging Tobio’s hair as he pushes him _down down down_ and lets him take it - lets Tobio swallow him whole as the bed creaks from Tooru’s thrusts, every jolt taking both Hajime and Tooru deeper into Tobio.

Hajime and Tooru claiming what’s theirs.

He comes with a strangled yell, balls squeezed tightly by his own hand, ribbons of his come shooting out of him, coating his shirt, his wrists as his whole body shakes, still trying to push up into the tight coil of his fingers, trying to milk itself for all its worth.

Hajime squeezes his eyes shut trying to get rid of the thought of how Tobio would have looked like — how _Tooru_ and Tobio would have looked when they’re painted with his come, the whites of it dripping from their mouths. On their chests. On their skins.

Marking them with him, making them his.

*

Hajime wakes up blearily, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then he looks at the hand because _what the fuck_ is that crusty— _right_. Okay.

Maybe Hajime should have at least tried to clean up after himself last night because this is just so damn disgusting.

Then he remembers basically _everything_ all at once and he feels like a whole bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over him because Tooru kissed Hajime and Tobio saw then Tobio kissed him too, then apparently they had sex and Hajime jacked off to them and okay.

Okay.

He should probably wash up.

He makes his way to the guest bathroom, taking his time to wash himself, steam rising from the floor because of how long he’s spent in the shower just prolonging the inevitability of having to confront the two people who just made Hajime come so hard, he got cross-eyed. Thank fuck for Tobio essentially being filthy rich and never running out of hot water.

Once he’s ensured he’s cleaned every single part of his body to the point of oblivion, he makes his way out and kind of stands and stares at the room for a second because the place doesn’t even _look_ like a guest bedroom anymore.

Hajime has clothes in the closet, some framed photos on the desk. Some of his printed files and books neatly lined up on the corner of the window and every once in a while, he calls Tobio and asks him to look for a certain paper, and if Tobio doesn’t have it, Hajime would then call Tooru if the paper is in his apartment in San Juan.

There are things that he owned _while he was still living in Japan as a high school student_ existing casually around the area. His jackets, a can of his favourite deodorant, a bottle of his favourite Tom Ford _Oud Wood_ , and how Hajime basically doesn’t even carry any clothes with him anymore when he travels to Italy or Argentina.

He realises that maybe this isn’t so much as a guest bedroom, as it is _his_ bedroom.

That if he’s not found in his apartment in Tokyo, he’s basically either here or in San Juan, or _anywhere_ that the three of them decided to take holidays in. And when did that even start?

When did they even start planning their holidays together?

Hajime tries to trace it back - thinks maybe it’s a year into _TobioandTooru_ that they became _TobioandTooru and Hajime_. Somewhere between their trip to Innsbruck and their trip to New York, maybe; or perhaps it’s around the time Tooru wouldn’t be able to join them in Manila so Tobio and Hajime surprised him in San Juan.

Or that time when it was Tobio who couldn’t make it and Tooru and Hajime cancelled their planned trip to Bali and went to Berlin instead where Tobio was contractually obligated to attend some press so they can still spend the holidays together.

Or… _fuck_.

Exactly how many holidays has he spent with the two?

Exactly how many places have they shared between the three of them?

Exactly how long has Iwaizumi Hajime (28) been in love with the _TobioandTooru_ , greatest idiots known to man?

**Author's Note:**

> And for Oikage Day, I give you: Iwaoikage because Izumi.  
> Thank you to [@_liminal](https://twitter.com/_liminal) for looking things over and ensuring there's a semblance of coherency in this fic.


End file.
